The Courage to Hope

“Of St. Paul’s trio of Christian virtues —  faith, hope and love — the greatest of these is love, but the most neglected virtue is hope.” - Former Archbishop of Canterbury Donald Coggan.

Hope has become a precious and diminishing commodity.  Many of us are not hopeful about the direction of U.S. foreign and domestic policy.  Many are not hopeful about the future of our environment. Many are not hopeful about their own finances, housing, health, or even food security.  

Why?  We’re certainly not the first generation to face serious challenges.  Our ancestors lived in troubling times. What’s different? Why are suicide rates climbing and birth rates declining?  Why are dystopian novels, films, and television shows so popular? Why are so many among us cynical and disengaged? What threatens and even destroys people’s sense of hope?

I think it’s fear.  Fear is the greatest threat to hope.  Some of us fear that our political and economic system is out of control.  We fear that we, or our children and grandchildren, along with other species, are compromised and will eventually be annihilated by the technology and climate we’ve created. 

Some people fear that there will be no place for them in our land. Others fear that strangers will take over our land. The millennial generation fears their downwardly mobile trajectory.  Lots of us fear growing old without adequate resources and support systems. The most desperate and hopeless among us fear that life itself has become meaningless.

Hopelessness, the outgrowth of fear, is the energy drain of humanity. 

Why bother? Life stinks, and then you die.

I believe that hopelessness is a conspiracy of evil that keeps us in bondage.  Without hope, people give up and die. Dostoevsky puts it this way: “To live without hope is to cease to live.”  I am convinced that the evil powers and principalities of this world conspire to make and keep us hopeless and therefore imprisoned in our perceived powerlessness.

Yet hope is at the very essence of faith.  In Hebrew, “hope” means “to wait for” or “look to.”  Thus, the author of Hebrews writes: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11.1) 

When I received my diagnosis of Frontotemporal Dementia, I was anything but hopeful. But eventually, I got my act together and decided that I am going to live as fully as I can for as long as I am able.

For the past two years, as Emily and I travel speaking and preaching about life with dementia, it often seemed as if we had opened Pandora’s Box, talking about a condition that many fear and dread. One day, Emily asked me if I actually remembered the ancient Greek myth of Pandora’s Box and suggested that I re-read it. Let me remind you of the story.

Once upon a time, there were two brother gods whose names I can no longer pronounce. One day, one of the brothers discovered the secret of fire, and this angered Zeus.  As punishment, Zeus chained him to a rock for many years. And if that wasn’t enough, the great god went after his brother by way of trickery. First, Zeus ordered the god maker of all things to craft him a daughter out of clay. Zeus named her Pandora, brought her to life, and gave her as a bride to the brother. Zeus then gave the newlywed couple a gift – a locked box with a note that said, “Do not open.” Attached to the note was a key.

Of course, you know what happened next. Pandora’s curiosity got the better of her, and she took the key and opened the box.  When she raised the lid, lots of bad things – envy, sickness, hatred, disease, war, pestilence, and famine – flew out into the world.  By the time Pandora closed the lid, it was too late. The world was no longer perfect. 

That’s how most of us recall the myth.  But there’s more.

Pandora’s husband heard his wife crying and came running. She opened the lid to show him that the box was empty.  When she did, one little bug flew out, smiled, and flew away. That little bug was named HOPE. And that little bug made all the difference as it offered the encouragement required by the community to believe that they could make the world a better place to live, in spite of the bad stuff.  And by the way, Zeus’ heart was softened, and he freed the other brother.

What’s the moral of the story?  Put simply, hope is what gives us the courage to act and to live in a world of threat.  Hope is what allows us to overcome our fear.  

Right now, there is no cure for FTD.  However, I am hopeful that someday there will be. I’m also hopeful that those of us living with dementia can improve the quality of our lives by being honest, transparent, and willing to make some changes in the way we live.  I’m hopeful that by acknowledging but not giving into its challenges, we can make dementia a stop along the way of our human journey, and not the end of the script.  

Friends, we are living in uncertain and trying times. The powers and principalities of this world are again at odds with the grace and wisdom of God. Yes, many are losing hope. It is our sacred task and honor to present our hope to the world.  For without hope, all is lost.  

As St. Paul writes, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope.” 

And, as our cat Samson delightfully reminds us, boxes are meant to be opened and fully enjoyed.

Joining the Ship of Fools

Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?


Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?


Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my name be known?


Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?

“The Summons” by John Bell of the Iona Community, expresses the challenge and promise found in Matthew 4:12-23. Following his baptism and sojourn in the wilderness, and  after the arrest of his cousin John, Jesus withdrew into the region of Galilee to make his home in Capernaum, a sleepy little fishing town by the sea. This base of operations was near Sepphoris, a bustling, sophisticated, commercial city, a seat of Roman imperial power, and thus, a place of economic and political tension.  

Jesus’ soon-to-be-proclaimed prophetic message of God’s realm would run counter to the predominant culture of the region and the imperial power that ruled it.   According to the Gospel of Matthew, with Jesus’ arrival in Galilee, “those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light dawned” (4.16). Whether they knew it or not, Jesus was about to bring profound upheaval to their world – for both the poor and the rich, the dispossessed and the powerful, the oppressed and the oppressor.

Jesus’ message was nothing short of revolutionary.  Matthew’s narrative presents a vivid portrait of Jesus’ vision as a rain shower that would wash away unclean spirits, drown out oppression, open the floodgates of freedom, heal the wounds of oppression, feed the hungry, quench the thirsty, restore sight to the blind, and raise the dead to new life.   

The approach of this downpour of God’s grace called for repentance — a complete reorientation of life.   Umbrellas would not suffice. Life jackets were in order, and they could be found only on the ship of fools that Jesus was about to commandeer.  For those who chose to crew this fishing boat, the ones who would follow as disciples, his vision and ministry would demand an abandonment of everything they held near and dear.

Jesus’ first four disciples--Peter, Andrew, James and John--were commercial fishermen minding their own business when Jesus came along and interrupted their lives.  

Think about it.  Jesus called four family guys, men with spouses, children, parents, and in-laws who relied on them for their daily bread.  Out of the blue, a stranger walked by and summoned them to abandon everything and follow him into the unknown, and they did.  They said, “yes.”  

They accepted an absurd invitation to walk away from their livelihoods, desert their families, and follow him. They readily joined a new fishing expedition into what, over the course of time, would become a life-consuming adventure on the high seas.  

Have you ever wondered what might have caused these ordinary guys living ordinary lives to accept this extraordinary call?   

Was it Jesus’ charismatic style? His charm, authority and directness?  Were they caught off-guard, saying “yes” without thinking? We all know those moments when we get ourselves into doing something before we even know it’s happening.  Or were they bored and looking for a way to escape the dullness of their lives? Perhaps it was the sense of adventure that appealed to them.

Maybe they had to prove something to themselves, and here was the perfect opportunity – a biblical version of Outward Bound or Moby Dick.  

Did these first disciples believe they were going on a vacation or adventure for just a few hours, days, or even a couple of weeks? Did they think that then they would return to their homes – back to their ordinary lives?  

Did they think they were going to become heroes-- that they would save the world, lead a peasant rebellion, or conquer the Roman army?  Maybe they were caught up in the apocalyptic energy of the times and believed that following the stranger would be the way to ensure their salvation and place in heaven.

Or was it something else, something inexplicable that occurred that day on the shores of Galilee?  Perhaps, when Jesus looked into their eyes and extended his extraordinary invitation, something incredibly holy pierced their souls and enlivened their spirits in a way that they could not comprehend or resist.  

The gospel writer doesn’t tell us what the disciples thought when they first met Jesus.  He leaves it up to our imagination.  

That makes sense to me.  

I believe that God invites each of us to follow in ways that we can understand and hopefully accept.  It might take awhile for us to catch on, but God is persistent and is usually able to find that little place in every one of us that won’t allow us to resist.

As I’ve shared so many times, God found me once--on a cold winter day in January--in a McDonald’s on 42nd Street in New York City.  I was minding my own business when a voice that was not my own, yet came from inside of me, spoke in words that I could not ignore or negate.  The voice called me by name, identified itself as God, confronted me with my own issues and private wounds, contradicted my theology, answered my questions, and called me to ordained ministry.

When I asked why the voice was talking with me, it responded, “Because you’ve been asking for it.”  It was true. I had been begging, even challenging, God to be clear with me, to help me sort out my identity and vocation.  And here I was – sitting in a McDonald’s in the middle of Manhattan, having a private conversation with an invisible voice.

“If you’re inside of me,” I asked, “then how can you be God?”  I’ll never forget the response: “What’s so special about me is that I’m inside of anyone, and everyone, who wants to know me.  And, if the world would hear and follow me, my kingdom would come.” 

A few days later, one of my professors said that faith is a two-way street: it is both a gift from God and our decision to accept the gift. 

I didn’t know if I had talked with God, but in a letter to a friend, I wrote, “If I don’t accept the voice of God on faith now, I don’t think I’ll ever get a more direct message.”   I accepted the voice and followed it, becoming part of the great ship of fools. I ran with the dream of God for my life through some three decades of ministry.  

When I was diagnosed with FTD, my life was once again turned upside down.  After months of coming to terms with it, in what seemed like an eternity to me but a millisecond to God, I heard the voice of God calling me to find the meaning, grace, gifts, and wisdom from a life impacted by dementia and to speak about it from the inside out.  

Like Peter, Andrew, James, and John, I was summoned to join a new ship of fools and sail into an uncertain future.  And, like the first disciples, I accepted the call and began what has become a challenging but fulfilling itinerant ministry.

I remain convinced that God’s call comes to all of us in such different ways.  It is often unexpected and frightening because it demands that we abandon or let go of so much.   At the same time, it is hopeful as it often calls us out of darkness into light and out of the shadow of death into new life.

Lately, I’ve been pondering the darkness (and I’m not talking about dementia or the lack of sunlight during winter in the Midwest).   I’ve been wondering about our nation’s darkness and our collective shadow of death. I can’t help but ask what God is calling us to abandon.  I don’t know for certain, but I believe that God wants and needs us to abandon our old narrative and fashion a new one grounded in justice, love, and mercy for all.

Is this message new?  No, the prophets have been saying it for centuries, and Jesus proclaimed it in word and action.  Is this work easy? No, but it is life-giving to those who do it. Is this summons to abandon our old ways frightening?  Sometimes, but it is also exciting. Is this reorientation of life necessary? You bet.  

So, I ask you.  Will you abandon whatever is holding you captive in the dark, strap on your life jacket, plunge into the waters of the unknown, and sail on a ship of fools bound for glory?  Will you invite others to come along?  It promises to be the cruise you’ll never forget.

Left Behind | Tracey Lind, 2007

Lessons Learned while Traveling with Dementia

Emily Ingalls and Rev. Tracey Lind, Dementia Advocates

As we approach the gate area for our flight, Tracey turns to me anxiously. “You’ll go up and tell them, right?” So, I sidle up to the desk and murmur to the agent, “My companion has dementia. May we board with the early group?” They are always accommodating, and they aren’t supposed to ask, but it makes us both feel better to state ahead of time why two apparently healthy women need to pre-board.

Forgive me. I used to look at the pre-boarding people and scan for frauds who just want to make sure their carry-on luggage gets into the overhead bin. I now understand that not all disabilities are visible.

Travel is stressful and confusing for people with dementia, and it can be overwhelming for their care partners. Tracey’s response to travel and her increasing need for recovery thereafter have become two of the markers we use to gauge the progression of this disease. Traveling requires extensive effort and planning, far more than it used to, and there will come a point when it just isn’t feasible anymore.

According to Us Against Alzheimer’s Fall 2019 Pulse of the Community online A-LIST survey results, nearly half (48%) of dementia caregivers “found that a loved one had been afraid or overwhelmed by unfamiliar surroundings, and nearly four in 10 (38%) said a loved one had become anxious in a crowded place, triggering an unexpected behavior. In addition, 38% of caregivers said their loved ones could no longer physically handle traveling and vacations.”

Frontotemporal Degeneration (FTD), although rare overall, is the most common form of early-onset dementia, and it messes with the part of the brain that contains one’s filter, blocks background noise, and prioritizes information. Normally, our brains sift through lights, sounds, and other distractions that compete for our attention. Our frontal and temporal lobes are responsible for telling us what behavior is appropriate, helping us judge whether or not we are in trouble — and then deciding what to do if the answer is yes.

Imagine it’s Thanksgiving weekend, the busiest travel days of the year, and you are sitting in the sports bar at the airport. The bartender is moving around making drinks, talking to the guy next to you, and the waiter is walking back and forth behind you. The busboy clatters past with a load of glassware. There are four screens with four different games going.

Outside in the terminal corridor, the PA system is announcing flights boarding and passengers gone missing. A family with three small children and a screaming baby hurries past, having been delayed in the TSA line when the toddler refused to go through the metal detector. If your brain is in working order, you can tune out most of this and focus on Ohio State vs. Michigan.

If you have dementia, you can’t.

Everything comes at you with the same intensity at the same time — all of it, the screaming baby, four games, “welcome to our city, please watch your bags.”  So, of course, your mind explodes. You go into a fetal crash position, arms over your head, hands on your ears. You want to cry and run away, but you don’t know where you are or how to get out of there. And your beloved care partner is staring at you, praying for divine intervention.

Traveling with early to mid-stage dementia does not have to be this way.

It is not as much fun as it used to be, but it is possible to get where you need to go without getting shredded in the process. Tracey and I run the airport gauntlet two or three times a month, and we have learned how to continuously adapt our expectations and plans to our abilities. It requires thinking through the entire process, door to door, ahead of time, trying to envision potential obstacles and worst-case scenarios — weather delays, longer lines than expected, missed connections — and how we might deal with them. 

Between the onset of brain disease and the late stages in a skilled nursing unit, there are a lot of years when bucket list items are still possible, and shared experiences can still be enjoyed. As dementia advocates, Tracey and I are committed to sharing the truth and spiritual insights we’ve gained from a life complicated by dementia with as much of the world as possible, for as long as possible. So we travel. A lot.

Below are a few of the tips and tricks we’ve picked up along the way.  I hope you will share your own in the comments below.

Emily’s Tips for Tranquil Travel

The goal is to get where you are going as smoothly as possible, with as little fuss and anxiety as possible.  Anxiety undergirds dementia even on a good day.  Travel is unlikely to be a good day.  Give yourselves enough time to get through security calmly, yet minimize waiting time at the gate, to board the plane early and settle in while it is quiet, and then to disembark as quickly as possible when the plane lands.

A “dementia card” can be helpful to print and carry with you while traveling.

Travel with dementia takes more time and costs more money.  Our days of running for the plane with 20 minutes between flights and changing terminals are over.  These days, we plan ahead to decrease stress:

•    Fly at a less busy time of day, one that allows time to get out of bed at a reasonable hour and follow your usual morning routine as much as possible.

•    Book a direct flight whenever possible.

•    Pay for seats closer to the front with a little extra space and fewer distractions.

Airport Security is a perfect recipe for a dementia meltdown — chaotic, crowded and noisy.  TSA pre-check helps, as does Clear if you travel often. 

•    For people who are more disabled, there is TSA Cares.  (855) 787-2227.  Call 3 days ahead and tell them you are bringing someone who has dementia. They will meet you on the entry side of security and help you through. Some fine print is involved, which you can find here.

•    Whichever security screening line you choose, make sure the two of you are together — don’t let anybody butt in between you. The care partner should go through the metal detector first. This allows you to catch your spouse before she wanders off into the concourse and disappears, leaving her belongings behind while you are still being patted down at the checkpoint.

Waiting for your flight also requires a strategic game plan. Once you have made it through security, you may have some time to kill before your flight boards. Find as quiet a spot as possible. If you have access to the airline club, that’s your best bet, but an unused gate area or the back of a coffee shop is also good. Find a place where you can’t see the screens, set back a bit from the concourse. Leave that spot when you have just enough time to saunter to your gate, arriving about five minutes before boarding begins.

When boarding is called, don’t be proud:  go with the first group, the ones needing extra time or assistance.  Get behind your companion, making sure she knows what seat she is in.   It gives you an opportunity to slip one of your dementia cards (see below) to the flight attendant.  Get your companion settled in a window seat, shade down, headphones on and playing her favorite music or movie on a tablet. 

After you arrive at your destination airport, arrange for an easily identifiable location for your family to pick you up or take a car service or a taxi.

Do not opt for two trains and a bus to your lodgings unless you and your partner have both spent years riding those two trains (or ones that look just like them-- see “perfect recipe for a dementia meltdown”, above).

One last thing:  I know you love your family/college roommate/fraternity brother and have stayed at their house before, but things are different now.  Your companion and you need a private room and your own bathroom. If that is not available, book a room at the hotel down the road. 

Now that you have gotten yourselves where you are going, greet everyone, and then go to your room, shut the door, and take a nap. You both will need it.

10RH: A recipe for joyful giving

Like many great ideas, necessity was the mother of this invention.  It was 2008, the stock market had plummeted and everyone was feeling strapped, wishing for Christmas to be simpler and less expensive. So we came up with a few simple rules for family gift giving — every present had to be under $10, recycled, or homemade — otherwise known as the "10 RH" rule. Once the rules were communicated and agreed upon, everybody went to work.

Christmas Day arrived and all the joy of the season came with it.  My mother made fudge, and then we wrapped up her barely-used collection of purses for every woman and girl in the family, and to the men, she gave a slightly used briefcase or backpack.   My in-laws gave away very special items from their home and the room filled with shouts of glee as sons, daughters, grandchildren, and in-laws unwrapped precious books from childhood and special pieces of family furniture or silver that had been lovingly polished anew.  The farmers in our family presented frozen pork chops and sausage from Ralph the 4-H pig, dilly beans from their garden, figs in earl grey tea, pickled quince and fresh eggs from a new flock of chickens. I gave photographs in recycled frames, and Emily made incredible batches of olives brined in her secret recipe of spices and oils.   And nobody spent more than $10 on any gift.

We set up a table for a CD Exchange, and what was one person’s tired music became another’s great discovery.  And then, over eggnog and olives, we had the funniest Yankee Swap and watched a family of adult women fight over a Jane Austin CD collection that ended up being a box without the CDs.

Financial necessity changed our family Christmas.  Since then, Christmas has become more creative, thoughtful and less hectic.  That holiday season changed our family attitudes about consumption and gift-exchange. 

Gift-exchange is circular in its very nature.  When a gift is given and received in love, both the giver and the recipient are blessed.  Our Jewish sisters and brothers call it a mitzvah.

Gift-giving is a part of the holiday season.  I believe that the holiday gifts we give and receive are really symbols and reminders of the greatest gift of all — the love of God freely given to all of us.   As history has shown over and over again, that love overcomes everything, even economics.

As you prepare for the holiday season, whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanza, I offer “10RH” as one way of managing expectations, finances, and energy while magnifying the blessings and love that we share.

Dementia: A spiritual lesson in forgiveness

When the wrong word comes out of my mouth, when I do something inappropriate in public, when I don’t recognize a face or can’t recall the name of a close friend or relative; when I get flustered, confused, agitated or angry at someone for no good reason; when I can’t follow through on a simple project or activity, when I forget to show up for an appointment or lunch date; or when I attempt to cross the street unaware of oncoming traffic, I have to ask for the forgiveness of others.

When well-intended people say inappropriate and hurtful things about my condition, or about dementia in general, or when because I’m doing well, they question the diagnosis, I have to forgive them.

I’m also working hard to forgive myself for the ways I took brain health for granted and neglected my own self-care as I cared for others. What if I had exercised or meditated every day; what if I had managed stress more effectively; what if I hadn’t worked such long hours or gotten more sleep. The list of “what if’s” goes on and on. Since I can’t turn back the clock, I need to forgive myself, even as I try to live a healthier lifestyle.

Coming to accept the new me and learning to live in the here-and-now, I also realize how important it is to forgive the hurts, betrayals and injustices of the past. My shrinking brain simply doesn’t have room for all that stuff. Carrying grudges and guilt can become a very heavy burden. Jealousy, resentment, envy, rage, and despondency are really toxic for our brains, our spirits, and yes, our souls. So as I cleanse myself from environmental toxins, I’m also trying to get rid of spiritual toxic waste. This requires me to forgive those who knowingly or unknowingly have done me harm, and to seek forgiveness for the harm I’ve done to others.

More and more, I’m discovering that forgiveness is pretty good spiritual and cognitive medicine. I’m also coming to understand that forgiveness actually makes room in our hearts and minds for joy, love, healing and new life. In fact, I think it is one of the key ingredients in the recipe for cultivating the fullness of life.

While forgiveness appears to be a simple matter of letting go and letting God, it’s not that easy. Or, as C.S. Lewis observed in Mere Christianity, “Everyone says forgiveness is a lovely idea until they have something to forgive.” I can think of no truer saying.

Forgiveness actually leaves me with lots of questions. How does one forgive the spouse who betrayed your trust, the employer who made unreasonable demands, the parent who was overly critical or unattentive, or the friend who neglected your friendship? And those are just the ordinary hurts of being human. What about the big stuff, like the Holocaust, slavery, apartheid, sex abuse scandals, political corruption, corporate greed, and environmental genocide? How do we forgive institutional betrayal, social damage, global abuse, and collective sin? Are there limits to forgiveness; if so, what are they?

To forgive, in Greek, means “to let go, or set free.” From the cross, Jesus prayed: “Abba-Father, forgive them,” (Luke 23.34) and then he let go and returned to God. By the way, biblical scholars dispute whether “for they don’t understand what they do” is a later addition to the text.

Throughout his ministry, Jesus taught his followers about forgiveness. In fact, when they asked him how to pray, Jesus taught these words: “Forgive us our sins and trespasses as we forgive those who sin and trespass against us.” (Luke 11.14, Matthew 6.12) He also insisted that what we release on earth will be released in heaven, and what we bind on earth will be bound in heaven.

When we forgive or ask God to forgive, we are seeking to let go of the burdensome hurt that we’re carrying, to release the burden of another, and thus re-establish a broken relationship. In essence, through forgiveness, we seek to move to a new place of freedom and liberation, of rest and peace, of healing and wholeness.

It’s hard to forgive, especially when we’ve been really hurt, insulted or demoralized. That’s why Jesus said that in order for us to feel fully human, we have to be able to forgive others, even — perhaps especially — those who hurt or offended us the most. Jesus insisted that there is no one undeserving of forgiveness, even if we can’t offer it.

I’ll never forget sitting with a therapist as I struggled to forgive someone who had really hurt me and my church. I kept insisting that I needed to forgive this person, but I simply couldn’t do it.

After listening to me talk about it for a few weeks, the therapist asked, “Why do you need to forgive him?” I was taken aback. Nobody had ever posed that question before. Stammering for words, I replied, “Because Jesus tells me so.” But I couldn’t do it. I was stuck.

For years, I kept trying to forgive this person, but with no success. The more I tried, the more angry, frustrated and hurt I became. It was as if I was carrying this guy around in my arms, like a dog that has stolen a glove and can’t put it down to fetch a steak bone.

Eventually, I sought counsel from another priest. After telling her my story and my stuckness, she said, “I’d like you to make a confession.” “Why?” I asked. “Because, you are not able to forgive yourself for allowing him to hurt you, and for not being able to forgive him.”

Now, that’s ridiculous, I thought. But I agreed to give it a try. So I got down on my knees and made my confession, asking for God’s forgiveness of me, the one who felt like the victim.

In keeping with the sacrament of reconciliation, my confessor offered “words of comfort and counsel.” She instructed me to pray for this person’s well being every day until I was no longer angry. I responded, “That will be very difficult, but I’ll try.” She said, “Don’t try; just do it.”

I began to pray every day for the one who had wronged me, and slowly but surely, my anger started to soften and my hurt began to dissipate. I also started to see that person in a new light, actually feeling some compassion and pity for him. But it took months — no, years — of prayer.

“How many times am I to forgive another...” asked Peter. “As many as seven times?” “No,” said, Jesus, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times” or depending on how you read the text, perhaps “seventy times seven.” (Matthew 18.21-22) Jesus understood how hard it is to forgive. That’s why he said it might take a while.

All of us have broken relationships, moments and places in our lives that require forgiveness. As we approach the holiday season, I would invite you to take the time to ask yourself: "Who in my life needs forgiveness?" And, I would encourage you to make that work part of your holiday preparation, maybe even consider it could an early present to yourself and someone in your life.

On November 14, 1940, the city of Coventry, England was bombed.  The Cathedral was destroyed.  The morning after, Provost Richard Howard declared that the Cathedral would be rebuilt as a symbol of faith and hope for the future.  He also declared that the Cathedral would pray for their enemies.  This decision led to Coventry Cathedral’s worldwide ministry of reconciliation.

In the midst of the rubble, the cathedral’s stonemason found that two charred medieval roof timbers had fallen in the form of a cross.  He set them up in the ruins.  They were then placed on an altar of rubble with the words “Father Forgive.”  Other crosses have been made from the cathedral’s medieval nails and have been given to cathedrals around the world engaged in the work of reconciliation.  Trinity Cathedral, Cleveland is a bearer of one of these crosses.  

Emily and I visited Coventry Cathedral in 2007.  These are photos from that visit.  They remind me of the ongoing, difficult work of forgiveness and reconciliation.